Shatter
by Genis Aurion
Summary: [slash, oneshot, StanKyle]. No matter what we were doing, I could never seem to stop myself from shattering his world.


**Shatter  
**_Zakuyoe_

Alone in the house, with lights barely lit, with nothing between us save the tense air, with hands gripping the material in my pockets, smile strained, eyes squinted, teeth chattering, devoid of meaningful expression, with a heart plummeted and with spirits dejected, the only thing I could bring myself to say to him was the only thing he wished not to hear, the one thing he hoped had been untrue, unsaid; and the one thing that would most likely send him into tears.

"No."

And I shattered his world.

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I remember the day we met, the day we entered kindergarten.

"Mom! I don't wanna go!"

"Stanley, dear, I'm sure there's someone here you'll make friends with quickly." Yet I remember clinging onto her arm nevertheless.

"But _mom_!"

My mother turned to her husband. "_Randy_?"

"It's for your own good, Stan," he told me, bending down to my eye-level. "If you don't go you'll never be as strong as me!"

"I don't wanna go!" I yelled defiantly, catching the attention of some of my fellow kindergarteners. I don't quite remember how much longer that feud had lasted, but I was quite sure that I had lost. I watched with dejected spirits as my parents left me alone for the first time in my life, an act that had made me, a poor four-year-old boy, think they would never return.

"Stanley Marsh?" a middle-aged woman called out. I remember her leading me to the center of a circle that the other kids hand created. "Everyone, this is Stanley."

"Hi, Stanley!" the class replied in unison. I remember feeling unnerved, being situated at the front of the class by myself, and by the time my teacher had let me go I quickly found refuge amongst the other kids.

"Hi," said the boy beside me with a smile spread on his face. "My name's Kyle."

"I'm Stanley." I remember taking a good look at this kid, the first person I had talked to in that foreign place. I had previously been raised for four years in a completely different environment, and seeing this boy—namely, Kyle—confused my young mind. "You have a weird hat."

"You have a weird name."

"You have weird spots on your face."

"You have weird shoes." I remember the accusations lasting for quite some time, and even as more and more people began watching our verbal fight I didn't falter. Suddenly the idea of being watched didn't seem so bad.

"You have a weird noise," was the last thing he said before I cut him short.

"Wait, hold on!" I exclaimed in that high pitch every young boy had. "If you take your hat off your head you can give me a new name!"

The kids around us immediately dispersed.

"Okay!" he replied excitedly, taking off his hat to reveal thick locks of red. "Can I call you Stan?"

"Sure," I replied. The name had stuck for many years to follow, and each time after that he felt happy merely calling me by that name. But even though he eventually got over the initial shock, I couldn't help but feel guilty for making him cry a few hours later on our first day, when I had told the rest of my peers they could call me by that name, as well.

For letting others use the nickname he had given me, I had shattered his world.

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I remember the day Wendy came into my life, the day she got in between my friendship with Kyle.

"I'm gonna have to call off today, dude. Wendy wants me over again."

"What the fucking hell, dude?" he had replied in anger. "You know I've been waiting for this day to come—for almost all my life, dude!"

"I'm sure you're exaggerating," I had told him, shrugging. "Wendy wants me to help her with her anatomy project, though. I can't say no to her, Kyle."

"_Yeah_, you can," he replied in a pissed tone. "An anatomy project over a Raging Pussies' concert? And I bet you'll be doing _more_ than just anatomy." I remember being quite frustrated with him after that point, the two of us proceeding into yet another unabashed fight of verbal accusations. I remember throwing no punches, though, especially when Shelley came into my room to encourage us to resort to violence—we didn't listen.

"Fine, go fuck her then!" he exclaimed, almost spitting into my face. "See if I give a fuck."

"I don't want you to be mad at me," I tried reasoning with him. I remember how he never once believed the truth behind an anatomy project—Wendy really _did_ have a project in anatomy, and she really _did_ need my help. But in Kyle's mind no such project existed.

"I'm not angry at you," he seethed quite contradictorily. "Ever since you bought those damn tickets I've been waiting for this day to come. We _never_ spend time with each other anymore, dude!—I wanted this to be _our_ time, our day away from all those distractions that keeps us away from each other."

"You sound like we're fucking married," I informed him. "Listen, Kyle… Wendy really wants me to help her. You can give my ticket to Kenny or someone."

"Stan, but—!"—but there was no more negotiations after that.

For leaving him to attend a Raging Pussies' concert on his own, I had shattered his world.

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I remember the day I broke up with Wendy, the day Kyle first saw the world differently.

Not the first time she broke up with me—the second time.

"You got your wish," I had told him as cheerfully as I could, even though I had been quite bitter on the inside. "She broke up with me yesterday—to get back with Token."

"It's the second time," he informed me, and that had been the day I decided to listen to him. "She broke up with you for the same reason six years ago."

"I thought she'd change," I said with a sigh. "Like, maybe she really meant it when she said she liked me again and that she wanted to give it a second try."

"You thought wrong," Kyle told me. I remember being at Kyle's house the day I told him, both in pajamas as his house remained silent in the night. I remember arguing with him over what movie to watch, ultimately not deciding on any particular movie. The air between us had been tense at first, as it had always been whenever we met immediately following my dates with Wendy; but at the foul note on Wendy's part had lightened the mood slightly.

"Yeah," I said to him, smiling. "I guess I did." I remember spending quite some time in silence, even if Kyle was talking to me, merely to reflect upon the impact Wendy's second break up had over my life. I remember being quite shocked at first, much as I had the first time, but it wasn't long before I resolved to get over it quickly and to view it as a chance to get closer to Kyle again. "I'm sorry that I can't make up that lost time we've had."

"There's another concert next week," said Kyle, smiling. "Though I don't think the band's as good as the Raging Pussies' had been."

"Fine, we'll go to that," I told him, patting him on the back. "Just you and me. None of our friends, no one else."

"Deal," he replied, smirking. "Though, I'm really the only friend you have anyway, so…"

"Hey!" I retorted. I remember pushing him onto his bed moments after, openly declaring a wrestling war the second I had the upper hand. I remember the both of us trying our very hardest to keep quiet, both not wanting his parents awake. I remember having underestimated Kyle's strength, ultimately finding his thinner form pinning me down onto his bed.

"One…"

"I do _too_ have friends!"

"Two…"

"I have _other_ friends!"

"Three."

"All right, uncle, uncle, _uncle_!" He let go of my arms but continued to pin my chest to his bed, knees pinning my shoulders. "Let go!"

"Nah," he said smiling.

"Dude, please!"

"Nope."

"But you're hurting me!"

"So?" I remember spending forever trying to make him get off me, every possibility I thought of ending to a failure. Even physical efforts didn't seem to faze him, though at one point I did manage to make him wobble more violently than a fish out of water. I had tried so many times that I don't even remember half of the ideas I came up with, though I think I'll always remember the thing that _did_ work.

"You're hard."

That had got him off me.

"I am not, dude!" he exclaimed, even feeling his nether regions to make sure.

"I was kidding," I explained, trying to hold back laughter as he turned a beat red. But while I wasn't being entirely honest I had still been right; he had been. "I know you don't swing that way, dude. Don't worry about it."

"…Sorry."

"We'll just never do that again, okay?"

But for not allowing him to experience that feeling once more, I had shattered his world.

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I remember the day he had made known that view of the world to me, the day our friendship came to an all-time low.

"You said you wanted to talk to me?" I had asked him, and he nodded.

"You wouldn't tell anyone about this if I asked you not to, right?"

"O'course, dude. But what're you talking about?" I remember being alone in the house with the lights barely lit, parents gone to watch a meteor shower, sister long-gone to community college, eyes filled with interest and concern, hands relaxed by my sides and smile hesitant, and as I waited for Kyle to answer reply he gave me a two-word response.

"Help me."

"Hm?" I asked, but he continued without needing more encouragement.

"I feel so lost," he muttered under his breath, gaze locked at my feet. "There's this person I really like, someone I've known for a really long time. Even though that person's made me feel insecure several times I still think that person's one of my closest friends—so close I don't want to lose that friendship when I admit my feelings."

"Maybe that person likes you back," I suggested.

"Unlikely."

"Is it Bebe?" I asked. Then, in a lighthearted manner I added: "It better not be Wendy."

He shook his head; it hadn't been funny to him.

"I don't know what to do," he told me, hanging his head even lower if at all possible. "I'm almost positive that person would hate me."

"I'm sure she wouldn't _hate_ you," I replied. "You're a really good guy, Kyle. I'm sure no one would go as far as hurting you."

"But Stan—!"

"How about this?" I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "When we're done talking, I want you to call that person. I'll help you through the conversation if you need my help."

"Stan…" But I merely stared at him in a finite way, and reluctantly he took out his phone. I remember watching every finger he moved as he punched in a number, the way he trembled in nervousness as he pressed each button on his phone. I remember watching his emerald eyes constantly glance up at me, almost as if he was scared I'd leave him. I remember smiling at him, giving him my support from a distance.

But I also remember being in utter shock when it had been my phone that rung five seconds later.

I remember not bothering to pull my cell phone out of my pocket. I stared into his eyes, watching them flicker for the last time as he took a step. I remember being absolutely still, not even sure what movement would be best to make as I tried comprehending what had just happened.

"Me…?" I asked in a small voice, and he nodded.

"There's this person I really like," he repeated once more, this time the words crashing into my mind with more impact than the first time around. "There's this person I really like, someone I've known for a really long time. Even though that person's made me feel insecure several times I still think that person's one of my closest friends—so close I don't want to lose that friendship when I admit my feelings."

"You haven't lost that friendship," I said quickly after he finished. "I-I… I don't know what to… to say…"

"Am I right?" he asked, shutting his eyes tightly.

"About me hating you?" I said in a whisper. "No, of course not."

"No," he said slowly. "About it being unlikely that you'd like me."

"Oh…" I remember there being an absolute silence between us as we both struggled to find words to say. I remember finding myself near tears, even though I knew he should be the one crying. I remember not knowing what to do, and the only thing I was sure of was the one thing I wanted to avoid.

"So…" he said at last, and I knew it had been coming. "…You don't like me back, do you?"

Alone in the house, with lights barely lit, with nothing between us save the tense air, with hands gripping the material in my pockets, smile strained, eyes squinted, teeth chattering, devoid of meaningful expression, with a heart plummeted and with spirits dejected, the only thing I could bring myself to say to him was the only thing he wished not to hear, the one thing he hoped had been untrue, unsaid; and the one thing that would most likely send him into tears.

"No."

And with that I had shattered his world.


End file.
